


Guardian of the Brave

by gloria_scott



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Extra Treat, Gen, Ghosts, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 18:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12538720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: He could not protect them in life, but perhaps in death...





	Guardian of the Brave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DachOsmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/gifts).



Merry stood upon the Pelennor Fields. The smell of the rain mixed with the stench of battle and filled his nostrils. The night was black and a growing mist obscured his vision so that he could only hear the soldiers moving all about him, tending to the wounded, mourning the dead. No one spoke to him or acknowledged him in any way. He might as well have been alone. Cold wind pierced his armor and he shivered.

Behind the black clouds blotting out the light of the moon, the creatures circled like vultures. Merry couldn't see them, but could feel their presence like a jagged blade drawn across his heart. Those creatures stalked him behind the darkness, thirsting to avenge their fallen Captain, waiting for Merry's will and breath to fail. His arm was limp and lifeless; had he not lost his sword he could not have held one anyway. Fear choked him and he was too tired to run. They would come for him soon. He would be lost.

“No way for a Brandybuck to behave,” he chastised himself. “Up and at 'em, Merry lad.”

He roused himself and tried to walk but only reeled like a drunken party-goer. His feet slipped on mud and blood, stumbled against metal and flesh. It was no good. The creatures circled high overhead once more. He fell to his knees, cowering and trembling like a rabbit caught beneath the shadow of a hawk.

A voice called out from a distance, chasing the shadows away. Merry lifted his head. Dimly, his eyes discerned a faint light in the distance. It grew stronger as a man of Gondor approached. He was tall and fair of face; his dark hair blew in the southerly breeze and a clear light shone from the white stone at his throat. The silver-tipped horn at his side seemed almost familiar. Merry wasn't sure, couldn't reach his memories through the heavy fog of pain and dread that enveloped him. The man beckoned and Merry struggled to his feet and followed. What else could he do? To remain was to surely die. Or worse.

Wet grass underfoot gave way to wet stone as they left the field of battle and entered the White City. Doggedly Merry trudged on, his eyes barely keeping focus on the round shield slung at the man's back. On and up they went until finally Merry could go no further. He sank wearily down into a doorway, head slumped between his knees. And Boromir sat watch beside him, staving off the beasts that threatened to carry him away, until at last Pippin could find him and Strider could make him whole again.


End file.
